


The History Boys

by Tails_for_Fairies



Category: Fairy Tail, History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett
Genre: Based off the movie script, F/M, M/M, enjoy, is only touching of genitalia, no less, no more, other than that, the rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6802501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tails_for_Fairies/pseuds/Tails_for_Fairies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unorthodox teacher, Freed Justine, and his colleagues, Bob Hector and Porlyusica Greentrees, at a British grammar school try to prepare gifted young charges for the upcoming Oxford and Cambridge entrance exams. The students absorb the facts and figures thrown at them by academia, and in the process, they also learn a little about life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Results and Happiness

_**Yorkshire, England, 1983** _

* * *

"Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye!" Sting Eucliffe mouthed the words to the song that thrummed through his headset, smiling brightly to the young children who were playing in the street. The walkman and tape heavy on his hip as he straddled the bicycle, and pushed himself off from the pavement beside his grandparent's house as he lifted a hand to wave to his grandmother in the front garden, the flowers perfect under her care, "Cheer-io, here I go on my way," The slight boy was oblivious to the world, to the birds overhead who sang, as he cycled along the main road fifty feet in front of the bus that travelled into town every half-chime, his head completely taken with the sweet voice of Gracie Fields, "Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye!" The blonde child made sure to nod his head towards the old woman making her way along the curving slope towards the shops, his own target the Catholic church, "Not a tear but a cheer, make it gay!" For a moment, Sting was unable to resist lifting his feet from the peddles as he rounded a corner, the bristle wind on his face leaving his skin cold with a sense of forlorn freedom, "Give me a smile I can keep for a while-" checking over his shoulder, Sting let the bicycle carry him across the road, hurriedly passing through on to the pavement, "In my heart while I'm away," As he stepped from the bicycle, his soft brown shoes dusting against the footpath, Sting slipped his fingers beneath the thin bars and carried it to sit against the old stone wall that guarded the Catholic church, "'Til we meet once again, you and I. Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye!" As he settled against the wall of the church grounds, Sting let his tongue press between his lips, eyes observing the houses that faced him with an odd sense of trepidation.

Within the church, a bald priest with a green stole spoke Mass to three people; an old woman; a middle-aged man; and a teenaged boy, all heads bowed and silence prevailing over the silence that overcame the street outside, "The peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep in you hearts and minds," the man's crisp voice sounded through the church, his body swaying to speak to those who had chosen to attend Mass that fateful August morning, fully aware of just how many were missing, "In the knowledge and love of God and of His Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord," at his pew the young lad lifted his clasped hands to his cherry lips and rubbed at the dry skin before letting his eyes glance upwards, the fingers untangling to cover his eyes in prayer, "And the blessing of God Almighty." The priest rose his hand, letting it fall controllably to the sign of the Cross, "The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit be upon you and remain with you this day and always." As his Mass came to a finish there was some exhaustion in the clergyman's voice, "Amen."

Sting turned as he heard the heavy doors close, and as he had done so he had removed the headset and leant lightly on the hot stone on which he had sat, "Will that do the trick, do you think?" The tenor of a voice had been almost worried as he had addressed the black-haired boy, a smart business man rushing past him on the footpath.

Rouge chose to turn and lift his yellow bicycle, voice deep as he carried it up the steps towards the road, "We're about to find out." With that being said, the two steady-fast friends made their way towards the school, mindlessly cycling along the middle of the wide road as only they could on the empty August day, blissfully ignorant to the woes of others, "Gray!" Rouge's voice was clear as they approached the back of the milk van, a raven haired boy stepping down enshrouded in a white smock, sighing as they other two dismounted, "Ready?"

Gray hovered on the edge of the van, feet almost falling from the ledge, hands in his pockets as he, for a second, observed Rouge, "Ready." The voice was light, but with the air of giving up more than hope.

"Mum, please," Ren whined with a hand placed on an elder woman's arm as young children ran about them. Reaching out a tan arm in the August damp Ren held up a single finger towards his friends before they had the chance to abandon him, "Lads, wait," Gray compiled with his friend's wish before both Rouge and Sting stopped closer to the gates, "Just get in the car, mum," Ren pleaded with the pudgy woman who was already reopening the car door with a look to her husband on the other side. "I'll be back in five minutes." Approaching the others, feet shuffled over the dry asphalt quickly, Ren stood momentarily as the four stared at one another, his chest heaving with a sigh.

Rouge let out a small chuckle, his deep voice hitting their ears even before the twitch of his head towards the school set their motion, "Let's get it over with."

"Aah-ah!" A blonde woman said as she made her way from the secretaries office, her purple manicured fingers pinching a crisp white sheet of results. 'Lucy, Lucy! Read it out!' Called the boys who flocked after her, each of them waiting for her to pin it to the deep blue noticeboard, all of the young men gathering at her back. 'Let us see!' One howled before she raised a brow and placed her finger at the first name on the list, one the brass thumbtacks were pushed into the cork notice, "Read out from the top." she instructed before one impatient lad called 'Just read it out!'.

"Three A's! I got three A's!" Sting turned towards his friends, Rouge clutching him before moving forward though Sting's voice could still be heard, "Three A's!"

"Jellal, what did you get, man?" Ren's lilting tones called through the crowd to another, answer lost in the crowd.

"Full house!" The blue haired man screamed as he jumped into the other's arms.

"Three A's! Three A's!" Gajeel called with a hoarse voice, a laugh somewhere in the mix as his hands squeezed Elfman's face between their palms, shaking the other's head back and forth. When released, Elfman moved closer to the paper that Lucy seemed intent on forcing flat despite protest.

"Told you you would!" Gray called with a whoop to Gajeel as the man kept screeching his 'Full house!', the raven haired boy pointing at the other as he spoke.

"Hey, what did you get?" Gajeel called with a jeer as Elfman approached the top of the step, the other's having fallen - or been pushed - down it in their joy, Jellal leaning over Gajeel's shoulder and the other's moving closer to listen.

"Er-um," Elfman stuttered at the top of the stairs, his foot falling down one as he spoke, "A and two B's." Immediately Elfman was dragged down in a swarm of hands to a cheering group of friends of spoke over one another and thumped each other on the back.

Sting was the only one to turn from the group, his head, and body, tilting as his face lit with joy, "Hey, it's Dragneel."

"Naaaatttss!" Called the group, Gray's light voice quipping through at the depressed look Natsu was putting into his swaggering step, "Nat, what happened?" As soon as the words passed the other's mouth, Natsu's hands rose from the leather pockets as he clenched them in a cheer.

Rouge's brow dipped for a moment as his thumb jerked up the stairs to the mass of lads looking for their results, "Are you not gonna look?"

"I got mine last night," Natsu's smooth voice spoke over the quiet group, and when they all turned to where his head led, Lucy turned as though she had heard her name. A bright smile lifting her cheeks as she saw Natsu before she disappeared into the masses on her way back to her office.

"I bet you did," Rouge laughed as an 'oooh' passed through the group.

"You jammy sod!" Gajeel laughed as he pushed Natsu, his mass moving as he leant on the other's arm.

"Fullbuster!" Was called over the crowd, silence prevailing for a moment as they watched the balding Headmaster edge along the wall with a stern expression on his face.

"Makarov," Ren mumbled into Gajeel's shoulder, the group watching as Gray shifted his shoulder and pulled at the cuffs on his smock.

As the Headmaster moved closer, "Fullbuster." fell sternly and with a whine from the old man's lips, Gray let the smile fall from his face as he looked up the steps to the old, and balding man in a heavily starched suit.

"Sir." Gray addressed, head proud from the straight blue collar of his white milkman's coat. Some confusion was passed from his lips, but nothing more was said as Rouge settled at his shoulder with curiosity and the other's huddled closer.

For a moment Headmaster Dreyar stood, eyes appraising the boy before his moustached lip curled as he spoke, "Why are you dressed as a milkman?"

Gray was quick to look down at his attire, hands moving from his pockets to straighten the lapels of the overcoat. "Working, Sir," Dark blue eyes raised to look at the stern Headmaster, shoulders pushing back as he explained, "For the 'olidays."

"As a milkman?" The Headmaster asked incredulously, Gray's mouth opening slightly as he looked away abashedly from the old man. "After the holidays, you'll be coming back to try for Oxford and Cambridge," The Headmaster's head tilted forward as he explained in a lisping voice, the boys in front of him taken aback by the statement. "Your A-level results are the best we've ever had," Jellal shifted at the back of the group, sharing a look with Sting as the old man prattled on, "And they demand that you return for an extra term to work for the examination to our ancient universities." No expression showed on the old man's face as he switched his gaze from child to child, "One more term, boys," Despite his never changing face, there was something akin to pride in the Headmaster's eyes as he breathed deeply, "One more push." As the next words left his mouth, Headmaster Dreyar's fingers played a tune against his thigh, "In the meantime, try and do something-" For a moment, Dreyar's eyes rested on Gray with contempt, "-Fitting."

"I'm in a bookshop, Sir." Sting immediately offered, his fingers caught on the wires of his headset.

"Good, good." Dreyar's head nodded as a false smile twisted his moustache, betraying just how little he cared.

"I'm on the bins, Sir." Jellal said as his body rocked side to side, his body turned so he was looking to Dreyar with a side-eye.

"I'm a bouncer, Sir." Gajeel followed with, his arms bending as he called the words proudly.

"Lavatory attendant, Sir." Ren said before Dreyar's head twitched and the Headmaster turned to walk away.

"Gigolo, Sir." Natsu called, the other's sniggering at the word when the Headmaster turned to glare before pushing his way through those still looking for results.

"Congratulations, my boys!" Porlyusica called as she walked forward from a classroom, her pale cotton cardigan swirling around her.

"Miss Greentrees!" The group called, Porlyusica's hands entangling with Natsu's as they held them in the air with a cheer.

"Three A's! Three A's!" Gajeel called with a grin as Jellal hugged the woman tight and Natsu slipped an arm around her waist as he brought her into the group. As the group once more turned towards the stairs, their cheers once more roused when they saw the heavy man who stood at the top with open arms.

"So, we shall be meeting again after all." Bob leant forward, his nose wrinkling under his glasses as he spoke to his onlookers.

"Yes, Sir." The boys answered, Porlyusica's hands resting on Sting and Elfman's shoulders.

"At school you don't get parole," Bob twittered, his clean voice laughing as his round face reddened. "Good behaviour just brings a longer sentence." With a sympathetic twitch of his head, Bob continued to laugh, "Ah, you poor boys."

"See you next term, Sir!" Gajeel called with an arm in the air, the group sweeping him away as they moved to the doors that lead them to the August heat.

Ren turned once to call out, "Thank you, Miss!"

"'The happiest youth, viewing his progress through,'" Bob looked down to Porlyusica as she stood beside him to watch their boys run down the hall, "'What perils past, what crosses to ensue,'" For a moment, Bob stopped to breathe '"Would shut the book and sit him down and die.'" Porlyusica looked up to Bob as he finished the mourning words, their eyes meeting as he spoke his own words. "Congratulations, Porlyusica. You must be very pleased." The two bowed heads at one another, Bob's heavy chin wrinkling as he smiled.

* * *

On the first day of term, Monday the third of September, the eight Oxbridge candidates arrived at school amongst the masses wearing their black suits, white shirts, and black, white, and blue ties. Many of the children were conversing with teachers, and when Bob entered the school on his motorbike the Oxbridge boys chased him as he called "Morning!" to them, Gajeel pretending to worship him as he passed.

When the eight boys settled in Porlyusica's history classroom they shuffled through their books and pens as she spoke, "You are entitled, though only for five minutes, Dragneel," Natsu rose his head as his hands stopped moving, looking to Rouge with mild offense, the other boy removing his long coat with a snort, "To feel pleased with yourselves. No one has done as well." Porylusica opened her leather bag, wrinkled hands moving to find articles within the satchel, "Not in English, not in science," For a moment her voice was loud as she spoke, then became muffled when she looked down to remove a folder, "Not even, dare I say it," The woman's red eyes settled on Sting as her pink hair swished, "In media studies." Porlyusica ran her patterned nails over the nametag on the cardboard folder, "And you alone are up for Oxford and Cambridge," With this the woman settled down in her hardback chair, hair brushing against the blackboard, "So, to work." As she looked out the boy still shuffled about their work items - magazines, file blocks, pens, and pencil cases, "First essay this term will be the Church on the eve of the Reformation."

Gajeel scoffed as he lounged in his chair, moving forward as he spoke with a scowl, "Not again, Miss."

"This is Oxford and Cambridge!" Porlyusica called with a loud voice, moving forward to look passed Sting at the boy who sat behind him, "You don't just need to know it, you need to know it backwards, Redfox." Porylusica looked about the boys as she moved a wooden block on the table with ease, to lift the pencil behind it, "Facts, facts, facts." With this being said her boys lifted the first page of the file block to write upon, a sigh shivering through them.

Later that day, the Headmaster sat across from Porlyusica and spoke with a wrinkled brow. "They're clever, but they're crass," As he spoke these words, Porylusica observed him in a very unimpressed manner, looking down at him as much as she dared to, "And were it Bristol or York, I'd have no worries." Dreyar looked away and frowned with a peeling lip as he sneered the words, "But Oxford and Cambridge?" When the words left his mouth it seemed as though the man shivered with joy, happy that such at thing had happened at his inconsequential school, "We need a strategy, Porlyusica," Dreyar leant towards the woman, his eyebrows rising and falling as he spoke in his low tones with wide eyes, "A game plan."

Porylusica was quiet for a moment, eyes dull as she responded, "They know their stuff."

"But they lack flair!" Dreyar called in a high tone, Porylusica's eyes narrowing, "Culture they can get from Hector." Something in the man's tone hinted that such a thing was not what he wanted, shoulder's curving in, "Eeuh, the history from you, but-" Dreyar sighed as his eyes rose to the school shield in the corner of the room, "I'm thinking aloud now." There was sadness to the tone, almost a sense of denial as the thoughts of failure filled him, "Is there something else?" Porylusica's brows rose as Dreyar's attention was called away to the skirted rump of Lucy as she entered his office with a small package of paper, "Think charm, think polish. Think-" Dreyar stopped speaking for a moment to watch Lucy leave the room, Porylusica's sight following after him with surprise and disgust, "Renaissance man." As Dreyar lifted the papers Lucy had left him his whole face contorted into something ugly as he leered with a side-eye at the door, "Leave it with me, Porlyusica, leave it with me."

"Yes, Headmaster." Porlyusica said as she made her way quickly to the door, as though it were an undesirable place she was in.

A large, bulked man stood in the door in a maroon tracksuit his arms folded after having knocked on the architrave, "Clive." Dreyar put the paper down, his small fingers still clutching, "Ah, yes." Letting the paper fall completely, Dreyar moved from his table with finesse and approached the teacher with a heavy brow, "An innovation to the timetable." Gildarts rose a brow, looking into the beady eyes of the Headmaster, "P.E."

"Yes, Headmaster." Gildart's head moved to the side, the Headmaster's breath repulsive. The man did not understand what the Headmaster wished, as physical education was already on the timetable, but it was his duty to respond.

"For the Oxbridge set." Dreyar let his lips curl as the other narrowed his eyes, "'Surely not', you say." Dreyar leant closer to the other, sneering, "But why not?" Dreyar moved his hands and head wildly as he spoke, his moustache quivering as he whispered, "This is the biggest hurdle of their lives and I want them-" Dreyar's voice became gritty as he placed his hand on the doorknob to the hall, lips pursed as he thought, "Galvanized."

"Galvanized." Gildarts nodded his head, a smile on his face, "Yes, Headmaster." He quipped as the Headmaster opened the door to let him leave. Before following after him, Dreyar let his eyes linger on Lucy in the adjoining office until she looked away uncomfortably.

* * *

Bob walked about the room of nine desks, arranged in three rows of three, with a grim look settled on his face, voice slow as he gripped the tightly rolled magazine in his hands, "In the timetable, our esteemed Headmaster has given these periods the dubious title of 'general studies'," Bob let go of the roll at one end and widened his arms as he stopped to look at the pupils who still faced the front of the room, "I will let you into a little secret, boys," A satisfied smile filled his chubby face as his voice lowered. "There is no such thing as general studies." Beside the man Gray lowered his head marginally and looked across the aisle at Jellal, the boy twirling a pen above his page, "General studies is a waste of time." With his face plain once more Bob moved forward, Jellal glancing up as the teacher walked passed, "Knowledge is not general, it is specific!" Each syllable was pronounced as Bob leant momentarily in the face of Elfman as he passed, "And nothing to do with getting on," His voice was light as he passed Sting's desk, the paper lightly tapping the table as he moved towards the front of the room where all his posters were stuck, "But remember, open quotation marks," A happy smile passed his lips as his hands twirled beside him when he had stopped at the front of the room and turned, "'All knowledge is precious whether or not it serves the slightest human use', close quotation marks." Bob leant over the front of the desk Ren shared with Sting, looking the boy in the eyes, "Who said, Akatsuki?" Ren brought his hand to his lips and mumbled, fingers rising to touch the pencil behind his ear. "Redfox? Fullbuster; Dragneel?" Bob sighed as he moved through the desks, arms by his side as all the pupils murmured amongst one another, "'Loveliest of trees, the cherry now-'"

"A Housman, Sir." Gajeel called as the class called their assent to the recognition of the words, Natsu raised his hands to fix his blazer as Rouge fell back in his seat beside him.

"'AE Housman', Sir." Bob said as he stopped and turned behind Gajeel where he sat sharing a desk with Gray.

"Wasn't he a nancy, Sir?" Gajeel asked whilst looking up at the mass of a teacher before him.

"Foul, festering, grubby-minded little trollop." Bob thumped the roll of paper against Gajeel's head in reprimand, "Do not use that word."

Gray poked Gajeel in his side as the other turned to laugh up at their favourite teacher, "But you use it, Sir!"

"I do, Sir, I know." Bob's head bobbed as though he were a pigeon, the words fast on his tongue, "But I am far gone in age and decrepitude," Both lips pressed against one another as he looked at Gajeel over his glasses.

Natsu looked up at Bob from the other side of the aisle, "Er, you're not supposed to hit us, sir." The boy's brow furrowed with concern, "We could report you."

As Bob moved away with a whine of "I know, I know" the pupil's of the classroom began the calls that had carried through from the many years before. Bob moved behind Gajeel and Gray, walking from that aisle to the next.

Jellal reclined in his stiff wooden chair, left hand resting in his pocket as the other tapped the pen against his paper, "You should treat us with more respect." Jellal returned his gaze to the blackboard when Bob rounded the end of Gray's table, "We're scholarship candidates now, Sir," Jellal took his pen to his lips and set it between his teeth in a practiced motion, "We're all going in for Oxford and Cambridge." At those words, as though something had been set in motion, the other pupils turned to look at Bob.

The man sighed what seemed like a scoff, "Oxford and Cambridge! What for?" Bob's head turned as though startled and upset by the news.

"Old, Sir. Tried and tested." Gray sat straight his seat, speaking over his shoulder as a roaming arm pointed at Ren at the desk in front.

The teacher whined as he curled his lip and lifted his paper like a cane, "No! It's because other boys want to go there," Bob turned around to look at Gray, moving forward from where he had stood behind him, "It's the hot ticket, standing room only."

From behind him, Jellal looked up curiously at the back of the man's head, "Where did you go, Sir?"

Before answering the question in a husky voice, Bob lowered his hand to look into the corner of the room, "I went to Sheffield." Around the man, the pupils laughed in breathy voices and blew air from their lips in distaste, "I was happy!" Bob looked once more around the room, a small smile on his lips as he took his paper once more into hands and waved it, "'Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters;'" A shuddering breath was pulled into his lungs as he spoke with roving hands, "'Enough her simple loveliness for me.' Keats."

Jellal frowned for a moment, eyes narrowing before he tilted his head back to look at the teacher who still stood at his shoulder, "We won't be examined on that, will we, Sir?"

"Keats?"

In a small voice Jellal spoke, "Happiness." Bob hissed and rose the paper to slap it down on the boy's head.


	2. Une Maison Passe et un Soldart Blessé

Rushing down the stairs from a meeting with one of the language teachers, Dreyar stopped halfway from the stairs to his office when a tidy, well-mannered man stood from the bench facing the bulletin board. Waiting until the nervous man had stopped in front of him, the man only a head taller than he, Dreyar narrowed his eyes and spoke with a small voice, "You are?" The Headmaster's brows raised and he frowned when the man stood expectantly in front of him, appearing no older than some of the pupils.

The man lifted his right hand to press it flat against his stomach, the other holding his small leather briefcase, "Freed Justine."

"Justine?" Dreyar slurred the name, his body curving backward from the unfamiliar man.

Justine let his hand fall from his stomach, his blue eyes narrowing beneath his glasses, "The temporary contract teacher."

Dreyar jumped a little at the thought, his own hand raising to point at the other, "Quite so." With a rush Dreyar hurried to his office, Justine following after with a slow swinging step. In the office Dreyar settled himself in his seat, Justine in the seat opposite after straightening his tie, "The examinations are at the end of term, which gives us, er-" Dreyar placed his hands between his knees, looking towards the shaded window for a calendar, "Three months, at the outside." Lifting one of the hands Dreyar indicated Justine before looking back to the school crest, nervous about meeting the others eyes, "You were at Cambridge. You know the form."

Justine gave a nervous smile, eyes darting to look at the stapler on the others desk as his fingers tightened around the handle of the briefcase, "Oxford." Air puffed from his lips with the word, head shaking slightly, "Jesus."

Dreyar smiled a little and lowered his eyes to look at the empty page in front of him, "You see-" Dreyar braced his shoulders against the air, suit rumpled, "I-I thought of going." Justine nodded his head, lips twitching as the older man rambled, brows politely raised in question, "But this was the - the '50s." A small content noise filled Dreyar's throat as he once more looked away, leaning on the padded rest on his chair as he pressed his palms together, "Change was in the air, and a spirit of adventure." The old man's body turned as though posing for a portrait and the air seemed to fill with nostalgic of something that never came to be for ineptitude. Dreyar raised his brows at the other as if including the man in his own ranks. Excited, for the praise given by someone he wished he were.

Justine drew back, averting his eyes from the sad old man with the slightest of hints of an indulgent smile, "So, where did you go?" Justine returned his eyes to the other, as though slightly interested in the answer.

Dreyar's lips tightened, his pleased smile falling as he looked away from the one who asked, "I was a geographer." The words came rushed from his lips, "I went to Hull." The words were dull as if presenting a challenge, and true enough Justine's lips dipped down as he glanced away. Dreyar coughed, both returning to look at one another as the old man settled himself in his seat, "They're a likely lot, the boys," Dreyar smiled, hoping to save his image, "Erm, erm- all keen." With a gasping revelation, Dreyar lifted his hand in pointed thought, "One oddity - Strauss," The man's shoulders fell as his voice turned condescending, "Determined to try for Oxford!" Dreyar laughed, thinking of the boy's face, "Christ Church, of all places!" When Justine did not return the laugh Dreyar continued with strain, "No hope. No." Dreyar leant forward, unable to stop his mocking of the boy, "Might get into Loughborough, on a bad year," Justine licked his lower lip, smiling with raised brows at the Headmaster, "Er-" Dreyar sniffed quietly, "Otherwise, all bright." The man stuttered suddenly, aware of what he was supposed to be asking the man, "But they need polish." Dreyar's hands seemed to dance across the table as he figured some diagram in his head, "Edge." Nodding towards the other, Dreyar settled back into his seat again, "Your job." Justine found it hard to suppress his smile at the other's tomfoolery, but did so anyway, "We're low in the league," The Headmaster's voice became gritty, his dreams making his smile, "I want to see us up there with Manchester Grammar School; Haberdasher Askes; Leighton Park," Dreyar stopped, eyes raised towards the ceiling, "Or is that an open prison?" A wistful noise passed him, "No matter." Justine's face twitched with laughter though he did not vocalise it, and as he did so Dreyar leant forward with furrowed brows, "There is a vacancy, in history."

Justine nod his head, head moving to the side as he thought, "That's very true."

Dreyar said nothing for a second, looking away before narrowing his eyes, "In the school."

Justine's face cleared of his frown, almost as though he were to laugh at himself, "Ah."

Dreyar lowered his voice and put his hands on the table in order to lean on them, "Get me scholarships, Justine," The man in question blinked his eyes in recognition, knowing what the Headmaster meant, "Pull us up the table and it's yours." Dreyar gave a shrewd smile, "I-" Dreyar removed himself from the table, arms flailing as he looked to the ceiling lamp, "I'm corseted by the curriculum. But I can find you," Dreyar turned to the timetable tacked to the wall by his desk, "Er-" Standing, Dreyar moved closer to see the small squares, fingers brushing over the dusty cabinet that kept his files clean, "Three lessons a week."

"Not enough," Justine said with indignation, wondering how it was he was going to manage.

Dreyar stuttered with a hand behind his back, "I-I-a y-yes, I agree." Dreyar lifted his other hand to run it over a filled in square of lessons, "However," Dreyar turned back to his newest employee, "I think I know where we can filch an hour."

* * *

As this conversation occurred in the Headmaster's office, in the classroom of Teacher Bob, Rouge sat by the piano with Sting leaning over his shoulder, "Elle écoute la java mais elle ne la danse pas elle ne regarde même pas la piste," Sting clear voice rang through the classroom as he leant against the old wooden musical instrument, the other's in the class facing the front as though unaware that the music was vibrating through the air, "Et ses yeux amoureux suivent le jeu nerveux et les doigts secs et longs de l'artiste," Bob sat in his chair beside the piano, eyes closed and head back as he listened to the clear tenor of his most attentive student, "Ça lui rentre dans la peau par le bas, par le haut elle a envie de chanter c'est physique," Rouge glanced up at Sting, the other's fingers dancing in rhythm to his own against a sheet of paper, "Tout son être est tendu son souffle est suspendu c'est une vraie tordue de la musique." As the words ended and Rouge's fingers ran the length of the keys the class began to clap.

Bob stood as the two boys returned to their seats in the disrupted room, all the tables placed where they had not been before, "Où voudriez-vous travailler cet aprés-midi?" With a flourish Bob threw his arms out, looking expectantly to those he taught.

"Je voudrais travailler dans une maison de passe," Natsu said, propelling himself from his table with a grin.

Bob smiled, laughing, "Oh la la!" Natsu lifted a handkerchief from his pocket as he stared into Bob's eyes.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Gajeel called from a seat at the front of the class, Gray at the table behind him.

"A brothel," Sting braced his arms against the table where he sat beside Jellal, licking his lips as the others cheered.

"Ah!" Gajeel laughed, a half-smile appearing on his face, "Oh hon hon!"

"He'd like to work in a brothel," Sting repeated as Natsu pointed a waving finger at him, the boys pink brows raising as he smiled.

"Trés bien!" Bob said to Sting, turning to look at Natsu who still stood in front of the class with finesse, "Mais une maison de passe o tous les clients," Bob swept his hand along the length of the classroom, pointing to each pupil, "Utilisent le subjonctif ou le conditionnel," The pupils groaned, sighs and curses passing their lips as they tried to think of all their lessons, "Bien."

"D'accord, monsieur," Natsu rushed towards the classroom door, barely getting out of it before turning to rap on the glass panes.

"Voilà," Bob turned to the rest of the class, his arms turning to point at the door, "C'est un client."

Sting rushed across the classroom to the door, flinging himself from the desk he had perched upon, settling his fingers on the handle before opening it with a smile, voice two octaves higher than it was previously, "Bonjour, monsieur," Sting gave a small curtsy in his trousers, the bottom of his shoes squeaking against the floor.

"Bonjour, chérie," Natsu said in a deep, heavy voice that sounded as though he were a chain-smoker who gargled rocks. Bob pressed his lips together at the sound and shook his head with laughter.

Sting looked at Natsu over his shoulder, closing the small curtain that covered the glass on the door, "Entrez, s'il vous plaît," Sting walked passed Natsu who still stood at the side of the room, watching as though something critical was happening, "Voilà votre lit-" Sting placed his hands on the end of the table Jellal and he had sat on, the other boy removing himself to help Sting move the table into the centre of the room, Elfman dragging his own table over to place the two together, "Et voici votre prostitué," Sting finished off with, placing a hand on Gajeel's shoulder who was still sitting close to the front, 'oh, fuck off' was the answer given by the boy, although Gajeel did begin to stand up.

"Oh la la!" Bob laughed with the others, smiling at Natsu who had come to stand by him.

"Je veux m'étendre sur le lit," Natsu said, the handkerchief in his hand being waved to Gajeel who was making his way around the tables.

"Je voudrais," As Bob spoke from where he was perched on his desk Natsu moved to rest against the tables that had been arranged for him, "'I would like to stretch out on the bed' in the conditional or the subjunctive," Natsu and a few of the others looked down, thinking, as they often did, that languages made little sense, "Continuer, mes enfants," With those words, a flurry of movement occurred.

Natsu brought his feet to rest on the makeshift 'bed' that had been constructed for their play, bringing the stub end of a pencil to his lips from God knows where, "Mais les chaussures, monsieur," Sting bent over the end of the table to push the others feet from the desk, "Pas sur le lit."

"Oh!" Natsu allowed himself to be spun, stopping to pull his shoes from his feet with ease, "Excusez-moi, mademoiselle, excusez-moi," With his shoes gone and Gajeel glaring at his feet, Natsu returned himself to his lounging position.

Sting curled his lip, raising a brow as he looked Natsu from head to toe before speaking, "Et votre pantalon, s'il vous plaît."

"Fucking hell!" Gajeel said whilst looking away to the back of the room, "Come on! Sir!" Rouge laughed as Jellal frowned at Sting, "Sir! Sir!" Gray cried, pointing to Natsu's legs. Bob did little more than wave his hand, shoulders crunching together and eyes dancing.

All this while Sting and Natsu had held eye contact, and the room quietened when Natsu suddenly stood. With quick, practiced, fingers Natsu unzipped his trousers and pushed them down his thighs, "Oh!" Sting brought a hand to his chest and raked his eyes over Natsu's legs before turning to face the rest of the class, "Qu'elles belles jambes!" Gajeel let a strangled laugh leave his mouth as he looked at Natsu's bare legs, "Et maintenant-" Sting walked around the edge of the table, raising a hand to indicate Gajeel, "Claudine!" As soon as the words left his mouth Sting turned to sit at the piano, Gajeel turning away with a pitched gasp and pulling his blazer overly tight on his body.

"Oui," Natsu took his sight from Sting to look at Gajeel who had turned back with fluttering lashes, and as they locked eyes Natsu dropped his trousers onto the floor beside his shoes, "La prostitue, s'il vous plaît," Settling himself on the table Natsu let his teeth show in a smile.

Gajeel laughed, moving forward to place a hand on Natsu's chest before pushing him down harshly when one of their classmates whistled, "Woo!" Walking around the end of the table, Gajeel spoke in a higher voice than Sting whilst pushing his blazer over his hips, "A quel prix?"

Natsu lunged forward to put their faces close together, "Dix francs."

"Dix francs?" Gajeel looked away to the ceiling, turning his shoulder to Natsu as he thought of what to say, "Pour dix francs, je peux vous montrer ma prodigieuse poitrine!" Gajeel turned back and threw his blazer from his shoulders, the material hanging from his elbows as Natsu gasped in fake awe as he looked to the buttons on the other's shirt with faked awe, "Ah, non, non, n-!" Gajeel cried when Natsu reached to touch his collar, but a knock on the door cut him short.

"Un autre client," Sting immediately said, moving to answer the door until it opened to reveal the Headmaster and another man, at which Sting stopped with wide as the his classmates turned to see who was imposing on their class time. 'Shit' passing from Ren's lips as Dreyar entered with a smile but with a souring face when he saw Natsu standing beside Gajeel, both half-naked.

"Ah! Cher monsieur le directeur," Bob said, hands behind his back as his pupils looked to him for support.

"Mr. Hector, what on earth is happening?" Dreyar squealed, eyes drawn to Natsu's legs as Justine shifted behind him to rest against the bookcase with a smile.

"L'anglais c'est interdit," Bob said with a smile, hands moving in a diagram of his own as he cast an eye to his class with a curdling expression, "Ici, on ne parle que français. En accordant une importance particulire au subjonctif."

Dreyar stumbled over his words, looking down to Bob's waistcoat as Justine stood straight to appraise the Headmaster, "Oh-erm-" Dreyar gave a gasp for breath before he looked back to his subordinate, "Qu'est-ce que c'est passé ici?" Dreyar pouted, before pointing at Natsu with a mottled hand, "Pourquoi ce garçon-er-Dragneel, isn't it?" Natsu nodding his head as he clenched his fists, "Est sans- Er-" Dreyar waved his hand, his fingers hitting Justine's thighs as the other man suppressed a laugh, "Trousers?"

The pupils turned away from one another with hanging heads, small cursing filling the air as Bob laughed, "Ah!" Bob turned towards his class, smiling at how they glanced up at him wth furious glares, "Erm- Quelqu'un?" Silence filled the air as the boys swayed, fingers bending into fists, "Oh! Ne sois pas timide." Bob scowled at his class before smiling, his words almost mocking in their cheerfulness, "Dites cher monsieur le directeur ce que nous faisons."

Natsu gave his teacher a startled look, as though questioning the man's sanity before looking to the Headmaster, "Je suis un homme qui-"

"Vous n'êtes pas un homme!" Bob said in a hard voice, arms flailing as he thought, "Vous êtes un soldat. Un soldat blessé." Bob turned to Dreyar, the man looking as startled as the pupils though Justine did not flinch so much as turn to look at Dreyar in amusement, "Vous comprenez, cher monsieur le directeur?"

"Soldat blessé," Dreyar's voice was pitched high, Justine standing by his shoulder watching the pupils individually enjoying how they squirmed, "Wounded soldier, yes, of course."

"Ici, c'est un hôpital en Belgique," Bob lifted a hand and swept it around the room.

"Belgique? Pourquoi Belgique?" The Headmaster said with a sour expression and a twisted visage.

"Ah Ypres, Sir," Ren said from the back of the classroom, moving through the others to reach the front.

"Ypres?" Dreyar repeated.

"Ypres." Ren said once more, patting Elfman on the back.

"Ypres?" The words seemed unfamiliar though one would have thought that a geographer would recognise the famous town in Belgium.

Ren finally reached the front of the classroom, one hand in his pocket whilst he moved towards the Headmaster, "Pendant la guerre mondiale et numéro un," Ren stopped when Dreyar looked towards Bob, bowing his head with nervous eyes.

"Ypres!" Gajeel said with a relieved shrug.

Bob looked over the rim of his glasses, smiling at Ren, "C'est ça! Dragneel est un soldat blessé," Bob thrust his meaty hand towards Natsu, who glanced between the two teachers, "Un mutilé de guerre." Bob's face twisted as he said the words with glee, turning to look at the others, "Et les autres sont des médecins, infirmires, et tout le personnel d'un grand établissement médical et thérapeutique," Bob turned away with a satisfied smirk on his face, "Continuez, mes enfants." Instantaneously, all of the pupils moved and Natsu was pushed down with an ailing cry. Dreyar looked offended by the display, but Justine seemed ecstatic at his side.

"Il s'appelle sa mère," Ren said to Dreyar over his shoulder, Gray in the seat in front of him crying with a hand over his eye.

"Mon père! Mon père!" Gray said, collapsing in his chair as Gajeel leant over him.

"Il s'appelle son père!" Ren said with whoa.

"Il est distrait, il est distrait," Bob said, running his fingers in circles by his temples.

"Il est commotion cérébrale, peut-tre," Justine said, cutting through the noise to create shocked silence.

"Comment?" Bob said quietly, shocked, perhaps, that someone knew more than he.

"Commotion cérébrale." Repeated with the tone of someone speaking to a very young child, brows furrowing as he regarded the other with disappointment. "Shell-shocked."

Bob paused for a moment and turned away from the two, a pleased sound in his throat, "C'est possible. Commotion cérébrale." The pupils around the room melted from their positions, realising the futility of such an act, "Oui, c'est le mot juste," The two teachers shared a look, a happy one.

Dreyar smiled happily; pleased with Justine's work at silencing Bob. Dreyar placed a hand in the small of Justine's back before pushing him forward, "Permettez-moi d'introduire Monsieur Justine, notre nouveau professeur."

"Enchanté," Bob said as he took the other's hand in his own, Justine returning the greeting and the smile.

Dreyar's face curdled at the pleasant looks to their faces, rushing forward to push the two apart with a hiss, "Enough of this silliness!" With a start, Dreyar turned to call over his shoulder with a worried frown on his face, "No, n-not silliness!" Pulling both of the teachers forward, Dreyar spoke in hushed and girdled tones, "Mr. Hector, you are aware these pupils are Oxbridge candidates?"

"Are they?" Bob said with surprised, beady eyes looking up from the pile of books pressed against the wall, "Oh, nobody's told me."

"Mr. Justine will be coaching them, but it's a question of time," Dreyar leant closer to Bob, the latter frowning, both looking to the front wall as Justine continued to look about the boys with some humour, their body language screaming embarrassment, "I've found him three lessons a week, but I was wondering-" Dreyar's hand shook as he spoke, fingers pinched but Bob pushed his fingers into his ears, muttering 'no, no'. "Purely on a temporary basis." Dreyar pouted a little, voice growing ragged between his teeth as Bob began to hum. "The last time, I promise."

"Last time was the last time," Bob whispered, lips white as he pressed them flat and Justine turned to look with a frown.

"I'm thinking of the boys."

"I am, too." Bob said, removing his fingers from his ears as he glanced at Justine, the man looking out of the window, "No, absolutely not." Lifting his fingers, the man ran them repeatedly in front of the headmaster's face, "No. No, no, no." Bob turned slightly, still not meeting the headmaster's eyes and almost to the point of snarling in his annoyance, "C'est hors de question, et puis, si vous voulez m'excuser, je dois continuer ma leçon," Bob smiled at Justine, the man almost smiling back before the other turned and indicated to his own class, "À tout à l'heure."

"Fuck." Dreyar muttered as the bell rang, turning without looking at Justine though the man followed. Justine looked into the room once more, and as he shut the door he could not stop as smile as the pitched laughter of Gajeel rang through the room, the other's hissing in similar fits as Bob stood fast beside the piano.

Elfman, however, refused to laugh, shoulders square as he moved towards Bob, "It's true, though, Sir." Bob smiled as he walked past the boy, Elfman glancing to the other's as he tugged at his jacket, "We don't have much time."

"We don't even have to do French," Ren admitted, wondering to his friend's side, rubbing his neck with a pencil before it was shoved behind his ear.

"Now, who goes home?" Bob ignored their worries in favour of taking the motorcycle helmet from the top of his cupboard, smile wide on his sweaty face. In a sudden flash, the room was busy, the loitering boys spurred into a rush as they moved silently towards their bags, muttered curses colouring the air. Gray rubbing his hand under his nose, breathing deeply as he shared a look with Jellal, as none of the others were raise their heads - for fear of catching Bob's eye, "Well, surely I can give somebody a lift." Bob's hand fell down, smile still wide as he looked about the room, "Who's on pillion duty? Dragneel?" In a flash of inspiration, Bob looked to his favourite pupil who was crouching at his table, stuffing books into his bag.

"Not me, Sir." Natsu started nodding his head, recovering from how he had frozen in panic when his name had been called, "I'm - I'm going into town."

"Fernandez?" Bob said, mildly disappointed in the boy though understanding the boy's fascination with Miss Lucy.

"Naw I'm off for a run, Sir," Jellal said, Gajeel snickering from where he stood close by.

"Akatsuki?"

"Er-" Ren said, refusing to look up from the book in his hands, "Computer club, Sir."

"Ah." Bob pouted,

Sting stepped forward with his folders pulled tight to his stomach and a simperingly puppy-like smile on his face, "I'll come, Sir."

Bob pulled his leather jacket from the stand, shaking his head with a saddened look, "Oh, no, never mind."

Sting's face fell as Bob moved his weight towards the door, and Rouge gave a heavy sigh before moving forward, bag swinging from his hand as his voice fell in pitch, "I'll come, Sir," Gajeel gawped from the back of the room, nudging Elfman. Both aware of how grumpy their teacher would have been the next day, had someone not agreed to go with him for the journey home.

"Ah! Cheney." Bob smiled happing as Rouge picked up the spare motorcycle helmet.

As Bob left the room, Rouge turned and smiled gitishly to the rest of the class, smiling softly for Sting, "The things I do for Jesus."

"It's never me," Sting whined once Rouge left, Gajeel walking past him with a snort.

"You're too young still," Gray said, pushing himself off from where he perched on one of the ashen desks.

"It will happen," Natsu said, rushing over from the other side of the room to gather a few stray pages, "Now that you've achieved puberty."

"If rather late in the day," Gray said, puffing out his chest and holding the folder closer to his side, glancing to the door and then back down to Sting.

Natsu leant forward, head the same level of Sting's, and tapped his temple against Gray's shoulder, "Mr. Hector is likely, at some point, to try and put his hand on your knee." Natsu lifted one foot onto a spare chair and opened his pencil case to check the contents, "This is because Mr. Hector is a homosexual and a sad fuck." With a sigh, Natsu looked up at Gray and then back to Sting with a small smile, "The drill is to look at the hand and go, 'And what does Mr. Hector want?'" Moving away, Natsu took the paper with him to where he had left the bag on the floor, "Well, he has no answer for this and so will desist." Lifting the bag, Natsu watched as Gray bumped his folder against Sting's head fondly, the two moving out of the room while Sting sat and mourned the journey home.

Outside, Rouge followed the brisk pace of Bob, throwing his leg over the back of the small motorcycle with his leather bag held close to his stomach. Bob called over his shoulder, "Thrutch up", and then they were off in a whirlwind of smoke and peels of laughter from other students.


	3. The Foreskins of Jesus Christ

"I just think I should have been told," Porlyusica uttered with a complacent sigh and shrug of her thin shoulders as she walked through the doors the next morning with Dreyar close to her shoulder, pupils rushing about them in an early morning buzz brought on by the sugar purchased at the local corner shops. The Headmaster's simpering voice far too close to her ear for anyone's comfort, the man reluctant to leave her side as she was one of the few people he could dare to call an acquaintance.

"Well, he comes highly recommended." Dreyar protested, brows twitching, and large, garish eyes blinking lethargically as they became accustomed to the darkness within the school halls.

Porlyusica snorted, descending the stairs to the history department, "So did Anne of Cleves."

"Who?" Dreyar squawked, and when Porlyusica looked over her shoulder in disgust the man coughed, "He's up to the minute, Porlyusica, more 'now'."

"Now? I thought history was 'then'." Porlyusica sneered as she moved swiftly forward to the old wood-and-glass door that would spell her freedom, not hesitating to leave the man standing abandoned in his corridor, face twitching in suppressed rage as the pupils moved about him, every once in a while one becoming bold enough to shove past him though the Headmaster paid no mind.

Out on the playing fields, where the wooden tables were set up, Gajeel walked towards the table Ren sat at, nodding his head towards the grumpy old man who was powering towards them, "Makarov," He muttered, settling himself at the table with an apple, flicking through the pages they had set under cans of drink.

"'Anne of Cleves'." Dreyar muttered, eyes glazing as he settled his hands on the edge of the table and pushed his beady head between the two pupils, refusing to look at them, fixated on the first years who were screaming beneath the adolescent oak tree, "Remind me."

"Fourth wife of Henry VIII, Sir," Ren replied, looking up at the man whilst swallowing a mouthful of bread and crisps.

"Of course," Dreyar muttered, looking down at the boy and smiled lightly, thankful that they did not ask why he had needed them to tell him.

"She was the one they told him was Miss Dish," Gajeel began, picking a grape from the bunch that sat in Ren's lunchbox, grinning as the Headmaster sighed, "Only when she turned up, she had a face like the wrong end of a camel's turd."

Dreyar was quiet for a moment, allowing his lip to hang loose before he blinked and stood up, "Quite so." Pushing himself away from the table, suit crumpling, the Headmaster rushed away from the old Sixth Form students, the two snickering at his back as they returned to their food.

* * *

In the changing room's after lunch, Clive marched through the boys as they disrobed, ready to change into their sports gear in preparation for the extra class meant to galvanize them. Clive's aim, at that point, was Gajeel Redfox, who was sitting quietly by the door flicking through a book, "What's the matter with you, lad?" Clive bellowed, arms tight behind his back as he sneered down his nose at the black-haired pupil.

Gajeel's lips parted, satisfied as he smiled nonchalantly and put his hand into the inside pocket of his blazer, withdrawing a pale piece of folded paper, "Oh, I've got a note, Sir."

"How much for?" Clive laughed, body bending backward as he shook, Gajeel's face falling, "I don't do notes. Get changed."

"Sir!" Gajeel let out a little laugh, eyes closing as he changed how he held the paper, turning it as though pointing at the teacher.

"God doesn't do notes either," Clive said with finality, head tilted back in a haughty way as Rouge began passing behind him, "Did Jesus say, 'can I be excused the Crucifixion?' No."

Rouge stopped behind Clive, turning with a frown on his face, sharing a look with Gajeel before he spoke, "Actually, Sir, I think he did."

Clive was silent for a moment, narrowing his eyes at Gajeel before raising his voice, "Change!" Surveying the backs of the boys who were changing, Clive preached his verse, "One day it will save your life."

"Nothing saves anyone's life, Sir," Sting replied from where he had his foot on the bench, tying the laces on his beaten trainers, "It just postpones their death."

Clive's face fell as he looked at the seeming 'non-believer', rushing forward to clasp the boy's shoulders in his hands, "Jesus Christ will save your life, lad, if you only let him into your heart!" Clive placed a fist onto Sting's sternum, looking into his eyes as though that was all it would take. From behind him, Elfman stared at the teacher, lifting his leg high as he stretched.

"I'm Jewish, Sir," Sting said, lips twisting as he attempted not to sneer at his teacher too much.

Clive narrowed his eyes and let his hands drop as though touching fire, moving towards the back bench, though "I'm Muslim, Sir," fell from Ren's lips before Clive could try to put his hands on the boy's shoulders. Ren gave a tight smile as he undid the tie around his throat.

Ten minutes later, after much preaching and many groans, Clive stood beside the vaulting horse, whistle between his lips and a sharp sound emitting from it when he blew. Jellal stood at the front, taking his time in running up to the mat before curling his legs under him as he passed over the old wooden block. "Very good." Next, came Elfman whose legs split as he went over the block, a smile on his face as he landed, "Most excellent!" Clive said with pride, the other's cheering Elfman on in the background before the whistle blew again. This time, it was Gajeel, who simply rolled over the top mat and allowed himself to fall to the other side. There was a hiss, and a laugh, from both the teacher and the pupils, Gajeel laying on his side looking up at Clive, "Lad, lad, lad!" Clive shook his head in frustration, "You're letting yourself down, you're letting God down." The others pupils move forward, only Natsu and Sting remaining at the back, perched on wooden benches.

"What's God got to do with it?" Gray said, his hands on his hips as he turned to Clive.

Clive blanched, ears drawing back, "Listen, boy, this isn't your body." The teacher's eyes looking Gray up and down, hand reaching out to pat the other's stomach.

"No?" Gray frowned, eyes narrowing slightly as his arms dropped a fraction.

"No!" Clive smiled, happy to teach something other than the mandatory P.E., "This body is on loan to you from God."

"Fuck me," Gray muttered, sauntering away from the teacher as Rouge laughed.

"I heard that!" Clive shouted, offended at the youth's disregard of the Lord, pointing at the floor the man frowned, "Give me twenty."

"Twenty what?" Gray stopped for a moment, moving back to stand and face Clive, his lips moving up as he sneered into the teacher's face, finding some hilarity in the man's actions, "Hail Mary's?"

"Do it," Gray snorted before kneeling on the floor, stretching out his legs under Clive's watchful eye as someone opened the door to the gymnasium. As Gray began his pushup's, Justine entered the hall with a sauntering walk, his lips curved into a smile on his face, "You're late! Get your kit off." Clive shouted at Justine as the man moved between the ropes.

Justine laughed, continuing to move forward as he looked down, green hair falling over his shoulder, looking back up as he stopped beside Gray, "I'm on the staff." Reaching into his inner pocket, Justine removed a letter from his pocket, handing it to Clive. The pupils about them laughed.

"Well, I've never seen you." Clive muttered, appraising the odd man as he took the note, "What's this?" Unfolding the paper, Clive paid no attention to Rouge leaning over his shoulder, lips parted to read the words.

"Do you need a hand with that, Sir?"Gajeel said kindly, the words spoken sweetly as Clive lowered the paper with a look to his face that suggested he may just have punched the boy.

"Is it joined-up writing?" Ren called, moving to lean on the vaulting horse beside the man, Clive's teeth gritting and face falling at the insults.

* * *

"So Miss Greetrees has given me a view of some of your latest essays," Freed spoke to the class five minutes later, the boys freshly changed from their exercise gear and splayed around the three tables in the room, Freed's delicate hands removing eight stacks of paper from his briefcase, "The experience was interesting." Justine smiled reassuringly at the class, face falling as he looked at the first essay, "The essays not." The boys watched as Justine walked around the room, "Dull." Gajeel had his essay thrown at him, "Dull." Jellal next, "Abysmally dull." Then Rouge, then Justine stopped moving holding up the last paper, "A triumph." Natsu smiled at Ren, he the only one not having their essay thrown back them then, "The dullest of the lot," Justine spoke this with narrowed eyes and a small smile, tossing it in Natsu's vague direction.

"I got all the points!" Natsu said with a frown, not bothering to look at the papers.

"I didn't say it was wrong," Freed said, leaning on the desk, "I said it was 'dull'," Justine ran his hand through his hair, walking towards the front of the room, "Its sheer competence was staggering."

"You've got crap handwriting, Sir!" Gajeel laughed, running a pencil over the teacher's comments.

"It's your eyesight that's bad and we all know what that's caused by," Justine said, turning to his desk to remind himself of what he had planned.

"Sir!" Gajeel cried in a faux voice, the other's snickering, "Is that a coded reference to the mythical dangers of self-abuse?"

"Possibly." Justine muttered, turning back to look at Gajeel with a stick a chalk between his fingers, "It might even be a joke!"

"A joke, Sir?" Justine's face fell when he heard Natsu speak, "Oh? Are jokes gonna be a feature, Sir?" Natsu sat forward, pointing to Ren's paper with his pen, "We need to know as it affects our mindset." Natsu ran the end of his pen around his forehead.

"You don't object to our using the expression 'mindset', do you, Sir?" Several faces turned from the back table to Justine, all of them smiling. Ren slid down in his chair, a brow raised as he closed his eyes to the world, "Mr. Hector doesn't care for it."

The room was silent for a moment, before Justine raised a hand to his stomach, lowering himself to perch on his desk, "At the- Er-" Justine looked to a table leg, choosing to ignore the statements made by his new class towards him, refusing to play into their plans, "At the time of the Reformation, there were thought to be 14 foreskins of Christ preserved," The boys in the class released sighing laughs, falling back into their chairs as Justine looked around them, "But it was thought that the Church of St. John Lateran in Rome had the authentic prepuce."

Natsu crossed his arms, and looked at the packet of sweets in Ren's blazer pocket before turning to Justine, "Don't think we're shocked by your mention of the word 'foreskin', Sir."

"No, Sir. Some of us even have them." Jellal spoke, his arm slung around the back of Gray's chair.

"Not Eucliffe, though, Sir," Gray raised his pen and pointed it at Sting, "Cause he's, well- Jewish." Gray said the word with finality, looking to the teacher who had crossed his arms and was frowning with distaste. "It's one of several things he doesn't have," Sting muttered curses at the boy, laughing under his breath at Ren. Gray narrowed his eyes at the window before his voice lowered and he continued hesitantly, "That's not racist, though, Sir."

"Isn't it?" Jellal replied with a voice pitched high though he smiled.

"It's race-related. But not racist." Gray pointed his pen at Justine, the man standing from where he perched on his desk, shoulders squaring off.

Justine's voice was soft as he continued, knowing exactly what it was that he would need to say to get them to pay attention, to dishearten them, "Has anybody here been to Rome or-or Venice?" His voice was hopeful, falsely so as he knew none of them would have been, surveying those that stood in front of him with cold disgust, "Florence? No." The man laughed, cold and happy as he watched the Sixth Formers pretend as though they were intelligent, their arms crossed in clear distaste for him, "Because the other candidates will have been and they will have done courses on what they've seen there, most likely." Justine watched with satisfaction as their faces fell, slight and almost unnoticeable but their smiles ceased to be, and his feet took life as he wandered the room, his feet leading him past Rouge towards Gray, "So they'll know, when they do an essay, like this, on the Church at the time of the Reformation, that," Leaning over Gray, hip brushing Jellal to the side, Justine gripped Gray's failure of a paper between his fingers so hard that the paper was bent, Justine's other hand raising to draw over the words in mock-red ink before it was thrown into Gray's lap as the teacher stood, "Oh, look, some silly nonsense on the foreskins of Christ will come in handy, so that their essays, unlike yours, will not be dull." Justine walked behind Natsu, looking over those that could still see his face, "They're not even bad, they're just boring." Justine's shoulder's fell and his eyes screwed up as he emphasized the word, strolling behind those he had not previously, "You haven't got a hope."

"So then why are we bothering?" Came indignantly from Jellal, his hand uncurling as his brow dipped.

"I don't know. You tell me." Justine stopped behind Sting, hard glare on Jellal, "You want it." Justine raised his hands to his hips and glanced to the other's, "Your parents want it." The word's lilted from his throat, almost a question but not at the same time, "The Headmaster, well, he certainly wants it." Silences reigned for the moments Justine did not speak, his thumb prodding towards the back wall as though it were the Headmaster, "Me? I wouldn't waste the money." Justine touched his tie as he moved towards the front of the classroom, "I'd go to Newcastle and be happy." There was silence for a few more moments, Justine drinking in their disappointed faces, and for a moment, the man almost felt sorry for being the cause of it, "Of course, there is another way."

"Oh! Wow!" Jellal called sarcastically, looking up with a sneer on his lips, trying desperately to hide his disappointment.

"Cheat!" Gajeel threw his hands into the air, paper flying behind him.

"Possibly." Gajeel's arms fell at the teacher's admission, and no one dared to speak when Justine's eyes focused on Natsu, "Dragneel." The name came out softly, as though addressing an injured animal.

Natsu glanced away, wondering what it was that the condescending man wanted, "Sir?"

"Don't take the piss." Justine continued his way behind his desk, the words leaving his throat harshly, "There isn't the time."

* * *

"What a wanker." Gajeel cried to Gray as they walked down the stairs, their bodies pushing past the younger years in an attempt to arrive at their next classes with something akin to punctuality.

"They all have to do it, don't they?" Natsu muttered behind him, chest puffing out as he tossed his satchel onto his shoulder and his head nodded forward.

"Do what?" Jellal muttered in reply, body bouncing off the wall.

Natsu turned his head to Jellal, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to continue to speak, "Show you they're still in the game. Foreskins and stuff." Natsu's face twisted, his eyes rolling as the words came sickly sweet as he began to move away, "'Oh, Sir, you devil'."

"Have a heart." Rouge laughed, voice gruff as he followed Natsu to the lockers, "He is only five minutes older than we are." Rouge leant against the end of the row of lockers, allowing Natsu to open his.

The pink-haired man chose to ignore Rouge's comments, appraising himself in his mirror, "What happened with Hector, on the bike?" Bending, Natsu scooped up his back and shoved it into the metal container.

Rouge let out a laugh, turning as Sting approached them, "As per. Except I managed to get my bag down." as though in demonstration, Rouge lifted his back up to his front opening the flap, "I think he thought he'd got me going, but, in fact," Shoving a book with a pale cover into the front pouch, Rouge let out a breathy laugh when Natsu turned to see him pushing out a bump into the leather, "It was my Tudor Economic Documents, Volume Two." Sting remained at the lockers a moment longer after both Natsu and Rouge moved away, the two laughing impishly at the thought of whatever it was they had been discussing.


	4. The Glorious Dead and Bette Davis

For the day after their introduction to Justine, there was an increase in time the boys spent in the library of their school. Stealing books from one another for the librarian to loan out and shuffling past each other between the shelves when searching for something, anything, that would hold some relevance to their studies. Anything that Justine mentioned in the ending minutes of their classes, and to clarify anything they found themselves struggling to understand. Writing the required notes, and planning the essays that he had set for them to do - each boy determined to make the man bend with even the smallest amount of praise for their work, though they knew he would not likely give it to them just because they asked.

"So, let's summarize." Justine began, crossing his legs beneath himself as he settled on the dewy September grass in the school's middle courtyard, eyes squinted against the sun and pen in hand, though he would not need it, "The First World War, what points do we make?"

"Trench warfare." Jellal cowed out, knees rocking under the weight of his forearms, voice stretching out the last few syllables.

Gray clicked his tongue, pencil between his teeth, "Mountains of dead."

"On both sides," Sting muttered.

Natsu gave a small laugh, "Generals stupid."

"On both sides."

"Armistice; Germany humiliated." Ren continued, feet sprawling into the middle of their circle, face tipped back to bask in the glory of the early September sunshine.

Justine's lips turned down for a moment, voice light, "Keep it coming."

Jellal turned towards the teacher, eyes watching a coal tit in the tree, "Mass unemployment."

"Inflation," Offered Ren, the thought lost to the scream of those on Junior lunch.

Gajeel's chest puffed out as he continued the line of thought, "Collapse of the Weimar Republic, internal disorder, and the rise of Hitler."

"So our overall conclusion is that the origins of the second war lie in the unsatisfactory outcome of the first?" Justine's head shook as he looked about the boys, tone almost disappointed in how excited he sounded.

"Yes," Gajeel replied, thinking for a moment before repeating the word with some hint of confidence, "Yes."

Justine smiled, head shaking once more, "First class," A smile erupted on Gajeel's face, skin bloating with contentment, "Bristol welcomes you with open arms!" Justine watched with satisfaction as their smiles fell, "Manchester longs to have you! You can walk into Leeds!" Justine punched the ground, his voice mocking and carefree, jovial and almost as though he had taken something from how he looked to them, "But I'm the fellow of Magdalene College Oxford and I've just read 70 papers all saying the same thing," Justine's pen was flung from his hand as he spoke, hitting Sting on the shoulder, "And I'm asleep."

Rouge's hand wavered in their air as he blocked the sun from his eyes, "But it's all true."

"What's truth got to do with it?" Justine's brow raised as he spoke, the boys laughing softly in disbelief, "What's truth got to do with anything?"

* * *

"The new man seems clever." Porlyusica mumbled into her cup of coffee, looking out from her classroom window on the opposite side of the courtyard.

"Yes, he does." Bob replied, unfolding his lunchbox as he shuffled one of the chairs at the desk forward, "Depressingly so."

Porlyusica turned to Bob in the silence, watching as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the flask, "Didn't you try for Oxford?"

"Cambridge." Came the curt reply, wonder and agony dancing in his voice, "Cloisters. Ancient libraries. I was confusing learning with the smell of cold stone." Pulling a biscuit from his tin, Bob looked up at his friend, "If I had gone I'd probably never have worked out the difference."

"Durham was very good for history." Porylusica muttered, watching Bob unfold a handkerchief and wiping down her desk, "It's where I had my first pizza." The woman took a small sip from her coffee, looking to where the boys sat on the grass, basking in the sunlight, "Other things too, of course, but it's the pizza that stands out."

Bob took a moment to process her words, looking away and nodding, "Er, Dragneel's a good-looking boy, though somehow sad."

Porylusica's face turned to Bob's, small horror on her lips before she seemed to dismiss it all, "You always think they're sad, Hector." She looked away, placing her cup behind her on the desk, "Every, every time." Bob tucked his handkerchief into his shirt collar, listening to the woman as she spoke, "Actually, I wouldn't have said he was sad, I would have said he was cunt-struck."

Bob's lips hung open with the scandal of the woman's words, her name passing softly from his lips, "Porlyusica."

"I'd have thought you'd have liked that." Porlyusica muttered, Bob's face piquing in interest, "It's a compound adjective." The woman laughed, reminded of the times when she had had to deal with her younger brother's in her youth, not for a moment missing their antics, "You like compound adjectives." Bob's blubbery face twisted into a grim smile as she looked towards the sound in the courtyard, "Oh!" She stood, taking her coffee with her as she wished to see where they would go, "Going walkabout."

"Oh, yes."

* * *

Justine had taken the boys out of the school grounds, towards the nearby park to saunter closer to the war memorial in the middle of the coppice of ash trees, "The truth was, in 1914, Germany doesn't want war." Justine shrugs as he nods his head towards an elderly woman and her dog on the other side of the square, "Yeah, there's an arms race, but it's Britain who's leading it." His voice rises, the pupils slowing behind him as the digested the information, "So, why does no one admit this?" The teacher himself began to slow, only to look up to the top of the monument, where the soldier's hat was covered in bird waste, "That's why. The dead." Justine chose his words, enunciating them, "The body count." Justine allowed a moment for his pupils to depart from his back and inspect the figure they had seen a thousand times before, "We still don't like to admit the war was even partly our fault 'cause so many of our people died." The words came slow, punctual, "And all the mourning's veiled the truth." Justine removed a hand from his pocket, bending at the waist momentarily to indicate the names, "It's not 'lest we forget', it's 'lest we remember'." Justine smiled as their faces seemed unable to hide what they thought, that he was madness incarnate, "See, that's what all this is about - the memorials, the Cenotaph, the two minutes' silence. Because there is no better way of forgetting something than by commemorating it." As soon as it looked as though Rouge were about to talk, Justine raised and brow and squared his shoulders, "And as for the truth, Cheney, which you're worried about, forget about it." Justine's head twitched, smile small, "In an examination, truth's not an issue." Rouge's mouth hung open as he laughed, some of the other's joining him.

"You really believe this, Sir?" Natsu stepped down from the higher steps, Justine looking up at him from the bottom, "Or are you just trying to make us think?"

"You can't explain away the poetry, Sir," Rouge muttered, hunching forward as Ren leant against him to look at the soldier.

"No, Sir." Gray nodded, arms crossed over his stomach, "Art wins in the end."

"What about this one, Sir? 'Those long, uneven lines standing as patiently as if they were stretched outside the Oval or Villa Park'," Natsu descended the stairs, ignoring the words of his friends as he took in the statue he had seen a thousand times, "'The crowns of hats, the sun on moustached archaic faces, grinning as if it were all an August Bank Holiday lark'." Rouge's gruff tones came to an end.

Gray picked up from there, "'Never such innocence, never before or since'," Gray made a motion with his file, pointing from one cobbled stone to another, "'Has changed itself to past without a word'."

"'The men'," Ren began on the other side of the statue, walking with a rush to be by Gray's side, "'Leaving the gardens tidy'."

"'The thousands of marriages lasting a little while longer'." Sting's voice was sweet, close enough that Justine could almost feel it.

"'Never such innocence again'." Gajeel placed his hand on Sting's shoulder, leaning on the younger boy.

"How come you know all this by heart?" Justine asked, the boys laughter exiting their noses as puffs of air, and the teacher's brow raised as he began to walk away, "Not that it answers the question."

"So much for our 'glorious dead'," Rouge said with eyes closed against the sun as he attempted to look once more at the once familiar stone.

"Quite." Natsu lamented, the other's walking away from himself and Rouge, Sting lingering at his shoulder, "Actually, Lucy's my Western front." Sting blanched at the words, Rouge clearly seeing what Natsu could not and that was the panic on the boys face, "Well, last night, for instance." Rouge chuckled, Natsu continuing as if daring him to tell Natsu he was wrong, "I thought it might be the big push," Without a word Natsu walked away, after the teacher and the others, and Rouge watched Sting frantically run after the other, "So, encountering only token resistance, I reconnoitred the ground as far as the actual place."

"Shit!" Boomed with a laugh from Rouge, the image of the secretary blooming in his mind.

"No, I mean not onto it." Natsu stopped, placing a hand on Rouge's chest, "Certainly not into it." Natsu's lips twitched, and for a moment, Rouge was reminded of winding Summer's spent in the forest, "Up to it."

"Fuck," Sting said, Natsu glancing to him with a smirk before moving away.

"And the metaphor really fits. I mean, moving up to the front, troops presumably had to pass the sites of previous battles. Well, so it is with me." Natsu sighed happily, "Like particularly her tits, which only surrendered about three weeks ago. And which were indeed the start line of a determined thrust southwards."

* * *

The night before, Natsu had lain in Lucy's bed with her kiss, but when he had attempted to put his hand up her skirt she had stopped him, pulling away, "What's the matter?" Natsu mumbled, not daring to try again until she told him.

"No-man's-land." Lucy let rumbled from her chest, eyes glittering as she thought of the word's learned in her own courses of history when she had been at school.

"Ah, fuck," Natsu sighed, propping himself up on the bed, trying not to be annoyed with how Lucy laughed at him, "So, what do I do with this?" He groaned, indicating the obvious bulge in the front of his denim trousers.

Lucy looked at the bulge for a moment, brow raised as her lips remained parted, her gaze flickering from his eyes to lips as she replied, "Carry out a controlled explosion?"

* * *

"Still," Was muttered as they rounded the corner, the gates to the school in view as well as their classmates on the other side of the road, "At least I'm doing better than Makarov."

"Makarov?" Sting commented in disbelief, Rouge's head spinning to look at Natsu as he slipped from the pavement, "No!"

Natsu gave a little smile, "Tries to." Natsu gave a slick smirk when Ren looked back, Sting's protests drawing attention, "Chases her around the desk."

"Euh!" Rouge continued walking on the road, Sting shuffling closer to Natsu as their other friend spun in a circle whilst making noises of disgust.

Sting frowned when Rouge rejoined them on the pavement, his face red with laughter and hand on his forehead as he tried to calm himself, "Actually, the metaphor isn't exact because-" Sting's tenor warbled when Natsu looked at him, "What Lucy is presumably carrying out is a planned withdrawal." Natsu's brow furrowed as Sting continued, his simpering voice floating between Rouge and Natsu, their minds still fixated on the idea of Makarov chasing Lucy around the desk, "You're not forcing her; she's not being overwhelmed by superior forces," Rouge tried not to laugh at how Natsu seemed to deflate, "Does she like you?"

"Course she likes me." Natsu snorted, lips drawing tight.

"Then you're not disputing the territory, just negotiating over the pace of the occupation."

"Just let us know when you get to Berlin," Rouge announced, enjoying the brief look of hurt on Sting's face.

"I'm beginning to like him more," Natsu sighed after a moment of silence, the three stopping on the pavement as they looked at their classmates entering the school grounds.

"Who? Me?" Sting's voice was hopeful.

"Justine." Natsu said with some disgust, lips tight as he looked over his shoulder at the other, "Though he hates me." Natsu jogged away with a shout, "Gray!", leaving the other two to ponder their existence.

The two were silent, Sting drawing higher as he watched Natsu's back, Rouge watching his friend, "Cheer up, least he speaks to you." Rouge pat his friend on the arm, turning to look at the familiarity Natsu had with Gray and Ren, "Most guys wouldn't even speak to you." Sting turned to look at Rouge, the other watching the car that rushed past them on the road, "Love can be very irritating."

"How do you know?"

"That's what I always think about God." Rouge turned back, fingers touching the rosary beads within his pocket, "He must get so pissed off," Rouge sighed, bumping shoulders with Rouge, "Everyone adoring him all the time."

"Yes." Sting muttered, voice sarcastic as he looked at the other from the corner of his eye, "Only you don't catch God pouncing about in his underpants."

* * *

"I'm wild again. Beguiled again." It was in Bob's class that afternoon that Sting sung again, their class sober as their listened to the lamenting song, "A simpering, whimpering child again. Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I. Couldn't sleep and wouldn't sleep when love came and told me I shouldn't sleep." Natsu's brow raised when Gajeel turned to laugh at him, the other's lips pressed tight to prevent a wide smile, "Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I. Lost my heart, but what of it?" "He is cold, I agree." Gray snickered, Gajeel elbowing his side as Natsu's head fell back so that he was looking at the ceiling and Ren looked up from the book in his hands, "He can laugh but I love it, although the laugh's on me. I'll sing to him, each spring to him and worship the trousers that cling to him." Elfman, sitting in the front row closest to the piano, turned when he saw Sting's gaze shift from the music to something else, his lips parted when he looked at Natsu. Elfman rushed to pull his notes from the desk, where Sting was lowering himself as he continued to serenade Natsu, the boy shaking his head whilst suppressing a laugh, the rest of the class stuffing fingers between their teeth, "Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I." Rouge turned and shared a look with Natsu, the pink-haired boy shaking his head and glowering as Rouge snickered and enjoyed the melody his fingers played.

"Well done, Eucliffe." Bob said as he struggled to stand, the two boys rushing back to their seats before the teacher raised his little brown book into the air with a smile, "And now for some poetry of a more traditional sort."

"Oh, God!" Gajeel cried melodramatically, collapsing hard onto his table so that it scrapped against the floor until it his Sting's back with enough force that it caused the blonde's table to move.

"Er, Redfox, w-what is this?" Bob blinked, looking at the black haired boy as he returned to a normal sitting position.

"Sir, I don't always understand poetry." Whimpered from Gajeel's lips.

"You don't always understand it?" Bob asked incredulously, smiling a little as he threw his arms out, "Redfox, I never understand it." Bob touched the lapel of his blazer, finger moving to touch his temple, "But learn it now, know it now, and you will understand it-" Looking from the window, Bob's hands fell to his sides, "Whenever."

Gajeel brought his hands to the table, leaning forward, "I don't see how we can understand it." Gajeel looked to where Sting had turned and was leaning on Gray's half of the desk, "Most of the stuff poetry's about hasn't happened to us yet."

"But it will, Redfox, it will." Came exasperatedly from Bob's lips, glancing around the rest of the class, "And when it does, you'll have the antidote ready." In turn, Bob raised his hands, "Grief, happiness." Pushing his glasses up his nose Bob smiled to bare his teeth, "Even when you're dying." Bob looked down as he collected his book in his hands, flickering through the worn pages for something to read, "We're making your deathbeds here, boys."

"Ay!" Before their teacher could find his page, Gajeel raised his hand and waved it, looking back at Gray before speaking, "We've - er- we've got an ending, Sir."

Joy spread over Bob's face, the skin turning pink, "Oh! Goody!" Raising his arm, Bob looked to his watch that was rested there clapping his hands, "Yes, well be sharp! Where's the kitty?" With that the room burst into movement, Gajeel and Gray racing to the front and Sting leaping to gather the beaten tin box for Bob who was lumbering towards Gajeel's seat in the second row.

"And we have to smoke, Sir," Gajeel said as Bob turned, aghast at the suggestion until Sting brought him the kitty.

Raising a packet into the air, Gray winked at Ren who smirked down into his book, "And I happen to have some, Sir."

"Very well." The fat on Bob's neck swung as he sat, Sting collapsing into the chair in front of him.

The room remained quiet as Gajeel and Gray adjusted themselves, Rouge playing a quick tune on the piano as the two huffed to prepare their voices, "Jerry," Gajeel's voice was pitched high, body leaning forward pleadingly, "Please help me."

"Shall we just have a cigarette on it?" Came the reply, Gray's face turning down and hands in pockets.

"Yes!"

Gajeel offered the packet to Gray, the other removing two of the cigarettes and placing them in his mouth, Gajeel holding up a light for him. When both were lit, Gray puffing smoke from his nose, Gajeel took one and both made a fanciful show to blowing smoke at Sting, "May I sometimes come here?"

"Whenever you like," Gajeel replied, tentatively reaching to touch Gray's hand, "It's your home too." With a wavering voice, Gajeel turned from Gray with stiff movements, looking to the back wall behind Jellal, "There are people here who love you," Bob gave a withering look to Gajeel as he chuckled, tongue stuck between his smiling lips as he bit it.

"And will you be happy, Charlotte?" Gray stepped towards Gajeel's back, holding the burning tobacco at shoulder height.

"Oh, Jerry!" Gajeel sighed, turning with drawn brows, "Don't let's ask for the moon," At that moment, Rouge chose to up the tempo of the gentle music, "We have the stars!" Both boys turned to Bob, lifting the cigarettes to their mouths and billowing out smoke. After this all the boys turned to Bob for his opinion, Gajeel continuing to smoke.

"Lovely." Bob clapped, running his thumb over his ring, "Hm!" Bob sighed with the rest of the class, before lifting a finger and twitching it side to side, "Could it be Paul Henreid and Bette Davis in 'Now, Voyager'?" The class howled with laughter, Gajeel and Gray muttering and protesting as Bob stood, "It is famous, you ignorant little tarts!"

"But we ain't never heard of it, Sir," Gray threw his arm out, glancing back at Gajeel as he stepped down the aisle.

"Oh!" Bob sighed with disappointment, "Walt Whitman, 'Leaves of Grass'." Bob smiled happily, recalling the words fondly, "'The untold want, by life and land ne'er granted. Now, Voyager, sail thou forth, to seek and find'." Bob lifted his hand, looking forlornly at the chalkboard as his hand mimicked the movement of a wave. He settled himself, drawing in quick, shallow breaths that made himself proud, before lifting the kitty and shaking it, the coins already contained within jingling, "Fifty pence, please!"


	5. Carry On and Brief Encounter

That afternoon, after the final bell had been struck, and many had abandoned the school for more pleasurable pastimes, Elfman found himself kneeling before a bookcase running through the process of pulling a book from the shelf, and then replacing it when he found that the title was nothing of interest to him, "Ah, Strauss," Porlyusica whispered with a hum in her throat, wondering why it was she found only Elfman in the library on that Thursday afternoon.

"There's nothing on the 'Carry On' films," Fell dejectedly from his lips, cheeks scrunching as his lips pressed tight.

The woman glanced at the bookshelf he was looking at, brow furrowing with confusion as to the films' relevance, "Why? Should there be?"

Elfman looked towards the bookcase, eyes narrowing as his head bobbing as though his next words made all the sense in the world, "The exam." Elfman was quiet as his head continued to shake, "Mr. Justine said the Carry Ons would be good films to talk about."

"How peculiar." Porlyusica sighed, lips pursing as he looked down at Elfman who continued to browse through the titles in hopes of finding something else to his liking, "Does he like them, do you think?"

"Probably not," Elfman said, standing and placing his blue folder on the top of the bookcase as he read the blurb on the back of a green-bound book, looking for clues as to its contents, and subsequent relevance, "You never know with him."

Folding her arms and leaning on the bookcase next to Elfman, the woman looked pointedly at his folder whilst brushing pink hair from her forehead, "I'm now wondering if there's something there that I've missed."

Elfman silently appraised his teacher, lowering book whilst flipping the cardboard top of the folder open, the notes from that day's class at the front of the binder, "Well, Mr. Justine says that," In preparation for the quote, Elfman puffed out his chest and lowered his voice an octave, imitating the teacher, "'Whilst they have no intrinsic artistic merit t-'" One of the other pupils in the library shushed him, and when Elfman looked up he found that many were looking at him and the pink-haired woman was laughing into her shoulder. Elfman continued with a softer voice, smiling to himself as he began closing the folder, "-'They achieve some of the permanence of art simply by persisting and acquire some incremental significance if only as social history'."

"Dear me," Porlyusica shook her head, looking up at Elfman, "What fun you must all have."

"Well, it's not like your stuff, Miss," Elfman gathered his books into his arms, nodding as he did so, brow wrinkled as though surprised, "It's cutting edge, it really is."

* * *

"Where do you live, Sir?" Gajeel asked, close to Justine's shoulder as the hurried to the classroom that had been vacated by the Comparative Literature teacher.

"Horsforth." Justine sighed, body turning as they passed Lucy who rushed along the hall with a skipping step.

"That's not far from Mr. Hector, Sir," Ren spoke as he moved to the other side of the hall, shuffling in front of their teacher, and speaking over his shoulder, "He might even give you a lift if you'll ask him."

Gajeel frowned quite seriously, leaning forward again, "It's not a loft, is it, Sir?"

"Do you exist on an unhealthy diet of takeaways?" Ren lifted his hand to his cheek, voice twisting into something mocking as his fingers curled, "Or do you whisk up gourmet meals for one?"

"Or is it a lonely pizza, Sir?" Gajeel asked with teasingly raised brows, rushing into the classroom after Ren.

Justine threw his head back in frustration as he entered the classroom, "I manage!" Justine turned his head as Natsu entered the room behind him, the boy having been silent their entire journey from the library to the classroom on the second floor, "No questions from you, Dragneel?"

Natsu smirked before answering the teacher, hand rounding to slap Rouge's shoulder, his friend standing guard by the door, having been roped into holding it open for Sting and everyone who followed after, "What they want to know, Sir, is do you have a life?" Ren made a hissing noise of agreement, face wide with a smile at the question, Natsu following him around the desk to dump their bags of the grey-wash tables, "Or are we it? Are we your life?"

"It's pretty dismal if you are, 'cause these are as dreary as ever!" Justine called, pulling the papers from his bag as the boys began removing their overcoats in favour of plain shirts in the humid morning. Justine smiled at their protests, "You get a question, you know the answer. But then, so does everybody else." Justine continued as he handed out the papers, setting them gently on the desks as he walked towards each pupil as they sat down, "So, say something different, say the opposite." Looking down at the top paper, Justine stuttered a little, "Okay, look, er-take Stalin," Placing the paper in front of Ren, Justine looked up, his sights on Gray first and he raised his hands as though coaxing a horse as he began to move towards the three, "He's generally agreed to be a monster, and rightly so," Drawing the syllables out, Justine bent at the waist to hand out the rest of the papers, looking into each of their eyes as he placed their papers down, the last in front of Rouge, "Dissent. Find something, anything, and say it in his defense," Justine was proud to see Elfman leap for his file-block, ink scratching into the surface whilst the others looked confused, "A question is about what you know, it's not about what you don't know." Begin his walk around the class, Justine's arm shot out as he spoke, exams coming easily to his mind, "A question about Rembrandt, for instance, might prompt an answer on Degas."

"Is Degas an old master?" Elfman's eyes narrowed, slumping in his seat as he struggled to write everything down.

Gajeel turned to look at Justine as he stopped behind Elfman and himself, pen raised to tap against his temple, "'About suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters; how it takes place while someone's eating or opening a window.'"

"Have you done that with Mr. Hector?" Justine asked, folding his arms.

"Done what, Sir?"

"The poem." Justine muttered, "You're quoting somebody." Justine began his walk around the other side of the classroom, wondering as to exactly what the man taught, "Auden, isn't it?"

"Was it, Sir?" Gajeel spoke up to him, "Sometimes it just flows out, you know, brims over." Placing his hand on his chest, Gajeel brought the other to his forehead and played faint.

Justine set his hand on the book that Gajeel and Sting had placed between them, looking around the class, "Right, does he have a program or is it just at random?"

"It's just knowledge, Sir," Ren announced.

"The pursuit of it for its own sake." Gajeel let his hands fall, smiling dreamily up at their teacher as he moved away.

Ren hunched over himself, fingers stuffed between his knees, "Breaking bread with the dead, that's what we do."

"It's higher than your stuff, Sir," Gray leaned forward on his desk, bring a pen to rest between his lips, "It's nobler."

"Only not useful," Sting muttered, fingers spread on the cover of his book, "Mr. Hector's not as focused." Justine rolled his eyes at the compliment, moving past Ren.

"Not focused at all," Gajeel called, "He's blurred, Sir."

"And we know what we're doing with you," Jellal muttered into his pen, lounging back on his chair, "Half the time with him, we don't know what we're doing."

"We're poor little sheep that have lost our way," Gajeel flung himself from his chair, and around the room to steal a book from Gray's desk, walking away with it held in their as one would if holding a child in the air to play with it, "Where are we? Where are we, Sir?"

"Sit the fuck down," Rouge muttered, tossing a ball of crumpled paper at Gajeel as he rounded his desk.

"You're very young, Sir," Ren commented from the back, appraised Justine as he finally settled at the front of the room, looking out the window, "This isn't your gap year, is it, Sir?"

Justine raised his hands to his hips, eyes hooded as he gazed at the fluttering green grasses in the courtyard below, "I wish it was."

"Why, Sir?" Came Gray's grating voice over the classes protests, "Do you not like teaching us?" Gray had his arm bent, tapping his chest with his pen, eyes narrowed and face carefully blank, "We're not just a hiccup between the end of university and the beginning of life, like Auden, are we, Sir?" Gray's chair was tilted, almost shoulder to shoulder with Natsu.

Natsu's firey gazed traveled Justine's length, one side of his mouth twisting into a smile as he reached the man's eyes, "Do you like Auden's poetry, Sir?"

"Some, yes." Was the curt reply, the man's shoulders folding in as he questioned their motives this time around.

"Mr. Hector does." Natsu continued, precise in his words and the coy smirk that tugged at his face, "We know about Auden." Gray's lips curving in a small cupid's bow as his head fell to the side to evaluate Justine, Natsu's eyes never leaving the man.

"Oh, yes, we do." Was the collective response, the boys smiling

Natsu drew a small circle on his page, eyes looking down but facing up, "He was a schoolmaster for a bit."

"I believe he was, yes," Justine answered, wondering why it was that they felt the need to tell him such things, and why such a response had been triggered.

"Yeah, he was." The punctual reply, voice quick, Natsu brought the pen to eye-level pointing at Justine, voice almost singing with childish fun, "Do you think he was more like you or more like Mr. Hector?"

"I have no idea," Justine pushed his glasses up his nose, thankful for a reason to look away, "Why should he be like either of us?"

"Oh, I think he was more like Mister Hector," Natsu ran his tongue over his bottom lip, voice soft, "Bit of a shambles. He snogged his pupils." Natsu frowned lightly, glad that Justine's attention was solely focused on him and not the several other students who were watching him in an intent way. The other's in the class did not move as Natsu continued tentatively, their faces stiff and curious, lips parted as their eyes shifted from limb to limb, looking for any sign of weakness, "Auden, Sir, not Mr. Hector."

"So, you could answer a question on Auden, then?" Justine shrugged, turning away to lift his coffee from the table.

"No, Sir!" And just so, the spell was broken, the boys no longer interested in how the man might react to the invasive facts. Gajeel was the one that spoke, throwing his pen down onto his desk, "Mr. Hector's stuff's not meant for the exam!" Rocking his chair back onto two legs, Gajeel let out a shaking laugh, glancing to Gray for a second, "It's to make us more rounded human beings."

"Listen!" Justine hissed into the classroom of muttering boys, standing promptly and striding towards Gajeel, but stopping short, "Listen. This examination's going to be about everything and anything you know and are," Justine's arms flailed at his sides, focused on Gajeel as he spoke, "And if there's a question on Auden or whoever and you know about it, answer it."

Ren answered first, quickly, into the pages of his book, pencil underline words as he went, "That would be a betrayal of trust, Sir."

Gray sat up abruptly, the falling paper causing Natsu to start as he continued to look to where Justine had been standing at the front of the room, "Yeah! Is nothing sacred, Sir?" Gray fell back into his chair, folding his arms and shaking his head as he laughed, "We're shocked."

Sting's eyes rolled into the ceiling, looking at Justine as the teacher passed by him, "I would, Sir; and they would," Sting's lips twitched as Gray rose a brow at him, "They're taking the piss."

"'England, you've been here too long'," Gray began as soon as Sting finished, the blonde pursing his lips and giving his best withering look, "'And the songs you sing are the songs you sung'," Natsu began to mouth the words alongside Gray, recognising the words, "'On a braver day, now they are wrong'."

Justine leaned onto the table, looking at Gray then over to Elfman, "Who's that?"

Gajeel almost felt himself cry, voice warbling with laughter as the class protested, "Oh! Mr. Justine!"

"Don't you know, Sir!" Gray called, looking to the teacher who was now at eye-level, genuinely shocked that their know-it-all teacher for once knew nothing, "It's Stevie Smith of 'Not Waving But Drowning' fame," Gray lifted his pencil into the air and dropped it with disappointment.

"Right, well don't tell me that's useless knowledge," Gray turned away, but turned back when Jellal nod his head, wondering how it was that the teacher was missing the whole point of their argument, "Listen if you get an essay on- On post-imperial decline! You're losing an empire, finding a role; all that kind of stuff, and-and-and," Justine stuttered when he looked over his shoulder to find Natsu staring at him intently, the boy seeming to be confused, "A gobbet like that, it's the perfect way to end it."

The class was quiet, the soft sound of pens on paper stopping as they looked at Gray, the boy, in turn, asking Justine, "A what, Sir?" For a moment, they laughed, small smiles on their faces as they felt as if he had made up a word.

"A gobbet," Justine rolled his hand, nodding his head as if to elicit agreement, "A quotation." "How much more have you up your sleeves?"

Gray grinned, beginning to lean back and brought his arms above his head as though to rest his crown in his meshed fingers, "We've got all sorts," With a start, Gray jumped, pointing towards the blackboard, "Hey!" Shaking his hand, there was excitement as they knew what he had thought of, Justine stepping back to avoid being slapped, "The train, the train!" As the words left his lips, Gajeel whistled, other's shouting 'woo! woo!'.

Sting jumped from his seat, rushing towards the front of the classroom where he stood board straight and staring at the map at the back of the room. Rouge lunged towards the piano, fingers playing the melody to the film, "I really meant to do it," The words fell quickly from Sting's lips, voice pitched as it had been when in the Maison Passe, "I stood there trembling right on the edge," Bringing his head into his shoulder, Sting let out a strangled, but proper, cry, "But I couldn't. I wasn't brave enough." There was a moment of silence as Justine processed just how much Sting sounded like a woman in a 1940's film, "I should like to able to say the thought of you and the children prevented me, but it wasn't," Sting remained silent to allow Rouge to play a loud note, emphasising his words, "I had no thoughts at all," A small laugh came from him, his eyes completely fixed on the world map, "Only an overwhelming desire not to feel anything at all ever again," Sting was silent for a moment, looking to the floor and conjuring a few pin-prick tears, "Not to be unhappy any more." Sting's brows seemed to roll, rising and falling once in quick succession, "I went back into the refreshment room, that's when I nearly fainted."

"What is all this?" Justine muttered, the class immediately shushing him in favour of ardently watching the play at the front of the room.

The music stopped, and Sting lowered himself onto the edge of the desk, Rouge coming up to his side, voice deep and a mockery of the Middle Classes who played in the 1940's films, "Laura."

"Yes, dear?" Sting turned his head, seemingly finding the task difficult.

Rouge licked his lips a little, face softening, "Whatever your dream was," His chin tilted forward and head fell sideways, "It wasn't a very happy one, was it?"

"No," Sting choked back a sob, looking down to where Rouge's elbows lay.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Rouge stepped close, almost touching Sting but letting his hand fall.

"Oh Fred, you always help."

Rouge was silent, allowing Sting a moment, cheeks twisting into a second-long smile, "You've been a long way away," Sting looked up, as though horrified at the thought, "Thank you for coming back to me." Sting let out a cry, propelling himself forward into the other boy's arms and as they embraced the rest of the boys turned to look at Justine expectantly. Rouge and Sting joined them, rushing apart with eyes only at the back of the room.

Justine breathed deeply as they looked at him, and he locked eyes with Natsu as he slid his hands into his pockets, but answered their question whilst looking out the window, "God knows why you've learned 'Brief Encounter'," The boys erupted into cheers, clapping and smiling as Sting and Rouge returned to their seats and Justine began to return to the front of the room. As he passed Rouge, Justine pat his shoulder using it as a pivot point to turn to the front of the room, preparing to move his briefcase from the end of Elfman's desk, "I think you ought to know this lesson's been a complete waste of time."

"A bit like Mr. Hector's lessons then, Sir." Natsu sung in his chirpy voice, beginning to prepare things to be placed back into his bag, "They're a complete waste of time too."

"Yeah, you little smart arse," Justine leant towards Natsu as he spun around with his case in hand, lips pursed as he settled it on his desk, "But he's not trying to get you through an exam."

"Ooooh!" Was their reply, whistling following that sarcastic cry of joy as Justine's shoulders slumped and he muttered down to his hands.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tails_for_Fairies does not own the story line of The History Boys or the vocal lines within this adaptation. This is based off of the 2006 movie adaptation, that Tails_for_Fairies adores.


End file.
